


Sweet Avalanche

by EmberCelica



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Ice Cream, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 22:37:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11344515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmberCelica/pseuds/EmberCelica
Summary: Ice cream goodness. Also, Pete is an idiot.





	Sweet Avalanche

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt "patrick stump" and "moonlight"

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Patrick said, shaking his head, not even trying to help as Pete desperately searched his pockets. Pete first checked his hoodie before diving into the pockets of his skinny jeans that, Patrick often suspected, were too tight to really hold anything.

“I swear I just had them, dude. They gotta be here somewhere.” He pulled his hands out of his jean pockets and presented them empty. “Shit.” He frantically started looking on the ground around the car.

Patrick sighed, leaning against the passenger car door. He was holding his and Pete’s ice cream cones and they had been discussing the perks of driving at night versus the day, in context of a tour and in general. The moon hung in the sky like a silver coin. Patrick wanted to pluck it and put it in the jukebox of the diner they just left, just so they'd have an excuse to stay there longer.

He brought his chocolate chip ice cream up to his mouth to lick while watching Pete circle the car. Two hands of ice cream equaled no help in searching for lost keys. The inside of his mouth was nice and cold, unlike the warm April night. Besides, he was more concerned about ice cream melting than getting home at this hour. “It’s pretty funny, I guess. I mean, this would happen when we go get ice cream at midnight.”

“Hey, you didn’t argue when I suggested this, did you?” Pete asked, walking back to Patrick. “In fact, I remember a lot of conversations where you beg me to take you out to do random stuff.”

“I didn’t argue _much_ ,” Patrick corrected. “I’m not complaining. And it’s more me making sure you don’t do anything stupid when you’re bored at unholy hours of the night.”

Pete took his strawberry ice cream back and went for a lick of Patrick’s ice cream, which Patrick successfully deflected by pulling the cone away. It’s only debatable downside is that Pete almost licked Patrick’s face, which he pulled away from, beaming.

“Keep your mouth away from my ice cream,” Patrick threatened, the chocolate starting to drip over his fingers. “I know where it’s been.”

“It’s been in your mouth.”

“I meant your mouth.”

“That’s also been in your—anyway,” Pete said, switching topics, shooting a quick smile while Patrick snorted. “Also, I thought that maybe I left the keys in front of your house, but that wouldn’t make sense because—”

“We drove here, yeah,” Patrick finished. Pete licked his ice cream and nodded. People who bit into their ice cream were either the devil or have seen too much in this world. “I thought you’d be more capable of keeping your keys on you, you idiot.”

“Huh. We better start walking, then.”

The thing is, it was truly too far to walk home, and did either of them really want to walk on the side of a road carrying ice cream for probably hours? Hell no.

After quizzing Pete twice that _yeah_ , he checked all his pockets, and he remembered walking into the diner and getting ice cream with his keys in his back pocket, they put the whole situation on the back burner and focus on the more pertinent matter at hand: their ice cream.

More importantly, as time went on, how Patrick kept catching Pete watching him while he ate his ice cream.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Patrick couldn’t help but flush under Pete’s gaze. He straightened up and met it with an annoyed look.

Pete grinned and took another step towards Patrick, effectively trapping him between the side mirror and the door. His ice cream dripped precariously near Patrick’s sleeve. Not that Pete noticed. “Oooh, Patrick, I’ll buy you more ice cream if you do stuff like that.”

“I’m not completely against shoving ice cream down your shirt, Pete. How are we getting _home.”_

“We go back to the scene of the crime!” Pete set off to retrace his steps back to the ice cream shop they were in. Patrick felt the absence of heat without him, and sighed. He went after him, eating the rest of his cone.

“That was a bust,” Pete said, when they walked out again. No keys in the diner, and their asking of the waiter that served them turned up nothing. Patrick didn’t really get it; why couldn’t they sit in the diner some more instead of hang outside the car they can’t get into?

Patrick shrugged. Eh, the people in the diner probably didn’t want some teens loitering around anyway. They had been quiet, at least as quiet as Pete can be, but he got the sense that the staff was relieved when they left. “At least it’s nice out here.”

“Yeah.” The moonlightcast a dim light on everything. It made everything look soft, even Pete, who didn’t really register as soft on Patrick’s radar. Pete was anything but soft; he was jagged edges and sharp elbows and sharp wit armed with a mouth full of teeth and euphemisms that most people didn't catch. Maybe that's how Pete and Patrick work; where Pete is sharp, Patrick is soft, and vice versa. 

They ended up sitting on the hood of the car, talking about anything, like always. “We could wake up Joe and ask him to pick us up from here, if you want,” Pete said, in a tone that meant he was considering Patrick’s feelings above his own, for once. His fingers tapped on his jeans, like he was checking them again.

Patrick leaned his head on Pete’s shoulder, which caused his hat to ride up. “I’m good, honestly. Joe gets pissy when we wake him up. And it could be worse, you know.”

“Yeah, like, once I saw this movie, and this would be the part where you realize that I’m a werewolf, but only because circumstances arose that would put us under the full moon at night all alone,” Pete rambled. “So, I could be a werewolf, and that could be arguably worse than right now.”

Patrick poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “I mean, if you were a werewolf, couldn’t I, like, ride on your back _Mononoke_ style and we’d get home that way?”

“But what about my clothes, man? Am I just gonna walk up the stairs naked to our apartment?”

“You’re speaking as if that hasn’t happened before.”

The conversation went on and Pete was vocally adamant that Patrick had some fantasy about public nudity. Patrick was sure that Pete was projecting on him.

Truth be told, Patrick felt the keys in his back pocket as soon as they sat on the car, but this conversation about werewolves could take another ten minutes.


End file.
